


stuck on you

by roseandthorns28



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bar singer Tony, Historical Inaccuracies, Identity Porn, M/M, There will be a happy ending, dumb boys in love, hints of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2020-04-07 15:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19088104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandthorns28/pseuds/roseandthorns28
Summary: Steve and Bucky never expected that walking into a gin joint in the middle of a European war-torn city would lead them to the most captivating bar singer they've ever come across.  It barely takes a song and a half for the boys to be smitten with the mysterious, melodious Eddie. Little do they know that the secrets the man hides are a bit too close to home for them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bill_Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/gifts), [Angst_BuriTTo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angst_BuriTTo/gifts).



> This was inspired a long, long time ago by [ this amazing gif ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/295057498abccef6c2a6e8298afff11d/tumblr_pomfzdR2P31wwxapu_500.gif) by TT! 
> 
> Dedicated to the amazing Bill whose enthusiasm for this much delayed work continues to fuel me. And a special thanks to the folks over at the Stuckony Discord. 
> 
> Unbeta-ed. All mistakes my own.

The door of the bar opens to a lively interior, smoke from cigarettes hanging heavy in the air, the clink of glasses, buzzing of conversations occurring, interspersed with laughter, and the band is warming up on the stage. Even though it’s not that much different than any other bar in the country, hell, the entire continent, walking into one of these places is still a novel experience for Steve.

He’d never been one to frequent gin-joints or dance halls anyway, didn’t much fancy being thrown out after being mistaken for a kid or for standing up to some mook with money. Plus, he’d never been as comfortable with the atmosphere of these places, not like Bucky has always been.

But more than all of that what gets him everytime is how entering one of these places is like entering a new world. You wouldn’t think on seeing them that there were a war going on outside, with Europe in the middle of it. To look at these people having a gas while soldiers are dying on the front everyday….

Well, it had made Steve flip his wig. It was only Bucky sitting him down and explaining how more than half of the patrons of these bars were soldiers or WACs or nurses or somehow associated with the war efforts and how not only did they need to unwind but the people had to have hope somewhere… had to remember what they were fighting for… it was a close examination of circumstances that had kept Steve from acting like a total chucklehead.

An arm falls across his shoulders and interrupts his thoughts. “Whatchya thinking about that hard, punk? You know we're here to unwind right?”

“Yeah, sorry, guess I'm finding it hard to shut...all that… off.”

“You know you gotta, punk. Command's told us to cool our heels for a while, chatter's picking up behind enemy lines. Plus, even the Captain of the Howling Commandos deserves some R&R, right?”

“Shush, not so loud, you mook. We're supposed to be ghost stories, undetectable. Don't need to go announcing who we are to the whole damn bar.”

“Tsk. Relax. No one's paying attention. Let me buy you a drink. And then later we can see about getting that stick out of your ass and replacin’ it with something more fun, hmm?” Even though the last part is said in a whisper, Steve whips his head around, making sure no one heard.

“Jesus, Bucky! You'll get us arrested for indecency. Have some damn subtlety,” He hisses, elbowing his in his ribs.

“Oof! Says the man who walks around with a target painted on his shield,” Bucky grumbles, rubbing his ribs.

Few minutes later, they're seated at the bar, nursing their drinks – even though Steve is immune to its effects, it’s still comforting to have something in his hand that makes him fit in the crowd milling about.  
Peripherally, he can tell the band picked up the opening notes of ‘I’ll Never Smile Again,’ by Sinatra and it takes Steve back to their drafty apartment in Brooklyn where he and Buck first started dancing together for “practise”, but really only just looking for a reason to hold each other. It takes him back to socked feet sliding over the floor, the rickety record player skipping records but never this one.

It puts a smile on his face.

Bucky raises an eyebrow in a silent ‘you wanna?’ but Steve’s still keyed up from the last raid, and the serum did nothing to improve his awkwardness. He’s no dead hoofer but he can’t cut a rug like Bucky does. He just wants to sit here with his best friend and lover and revel in the anonymity. All the other Commandos are scattered to the winds too, it being too dangerous to stick together for the duration of the time that it takes the bright minds at SSR at decode and counter the latest intelligence.

As the patrons twirl around, Steve catch glimpses of the brunet man who croons into the microphone through the spaces in between them, but he’s hardly paying attention to anything much. He only registers enough to realise that his voice is actually real swell, deep and smooth that reminds him of the chocolate he’d been very fortunate to receive once in a while.

It’s only when the usual fare of the crowd pleasers are done with and the music changes into a haunting, beautiful violin melody that Steve pays attention to what’s happening on stage. Suddenly, the rich deep voice starts singing about ‘lights in Miami’ and ‘my king’. His voice has gone from the generic sort of bar singer voice that’s a dime a dozen to something deep and passionate and he guesses it might be an original piece since he’s never heard something as… sensual… as this before. He can feel Bucky perk up next to him, especially when the man starts crooning to his ‘Cacciatore’ in perfectly accented Italian. They might not be fluent but even they can tell that it refers to a man, a hunter, if he remembers correctly – which he always does, ever since they pumped that stuff through his veins…

In an unconscious, unplanned move that belies how they’re always eerily in sync with each other, they both lean out of their seats to catch a glimpse of the singer.

Even through the dark, hazy bar, Steve can tell the man is gorgeous. He’s dressed almost as spiffily as anyone, a black suit with white shirt underneath, a little messed up but not as much as his hair which is standing up every which way. The inner Sarah Rogers in him itches to lick his palm and smooth it down. He’s got a half done cigarette held between his long fingers, his eyes are closed to this world, and he seems lost in his song. It’s a sight to behold.

Apparently, Bucky agrees because he wolf whistles under his breath. 

 

 

 

They turn to face the stage now, caught up in the performance. The singer’s got real talent and Steve can’t tell if he’s originally an English speaker or if he’s just that good at imitating the accent. The song ends on a low note and the entire joint leans in, hooked like fish on a hook. Damn, but the man has got talent.

The band seamlessly transitions into the next song and the brunet starts singing again, voice husky as he croons, ‘I don’t want to set the world on fire… I just want to start... a flame in your heart…’  
Even though the words are The Ink Spots’, the singer owns them, makes them his own, singing it with eyes closed and a sway in his body. It’s something incredibly intimate that Steve thinks they’re lucky to be given an audience to. He ain’t ashamed to say he’s enamoured.

“Hot damn. Who knew this podunk town had such nice entertainment,” Bucky drawls, cutting into Steve’s trance, his eyes stuck on the singer who’s now cradling the microphone in his hands and dipping it as if it were some dame, as he ends the song on a high note.

“You feeling a little clobbered, Buck?”

There’s a moment of suspended animation, Steve’s keen eyesight can make out the man panting slightly, but a content smile on his face. Meanwhile, Bucky seems to realise that his appreciation might not be copacetic with his lover and he looks over with a sheepishly defiant expression which only a Barnes can carry.

“Nothin’ wrong in appreciating good talent. You should know, you’re an artist yourself.”

Steve scoffs good-naturedly. “Yeah, right. You wanna appreciate him a little more closely? Maybe buy the fella a drink?” He asks, gesturing at where the singer is taking a bow in response to the hooting and applause, no one having denied that it was a killer diller performance.

“You serious?”

“Nothing wrong with a conversation, right?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows before chuckling. “Should’a known. You never do anything halfway.”

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to relax. This is me relaxing.”

“Talking to strange men? Buying ‘em a drink? You gonna ask if he’s rationed next?”

Steve rolls his eyes in exasperation. Trust Bucky to argue against his own stance when suggested something. And he calls Steve stubborn. “I got my hands full with you, thanks. Come on, you wanna go or not?”

“Fine, if you insist so much,” Bucky replies cheekily, downing his drink. “But if you can’t even stutter out a hello to him, I ain’t helping ya.”

“You’re a real stand up guy, you jerk.”

They make their way through the bar towards where the singer is now talking a mile a minute to the piano man by the side of the stage. He’s got his back to them and his hands are moving hummingbird fast. The artist in Steve wants to capture that but he knows instinctively that even the flickers won’t be able to arrest that… presence. The singer laughs at something, his laugh as melodious as his voice, and bends down to play a few notes at the piano. Not that Steve is paying attention to what’s played, his eye is caught by the stretch of the material of his pants over his behind. He is a red blooded male after all.

“Hey, how do you say let me buy you a drink in Italian?” Bucky hisses to him and Steve knows he too is only paying attention to the same thing.

“Three months posted there and you didn’t even learn that?”

“I was getting shot at and tortured for a good part of that!”

“Shut up, we’re close enough for him to-”

“Can I help you fellas?” The singer finally asks, turning around.  
This close, he actually looks younger, not a day over 20. “Not that I don’t appreciate adoring fans but I would appreciate it more if it’s to… my … face…” He trails off when he finally catches sight of them, eyes going round. They’re beautiful brown eyes, his serum enhanced sight tells Steve, but he’s a bit worried by the reaction to pay much attention to that.

He hopes he isn’t one of those khaki wacky kinda folks who’s gonna drape himself over Steve and tell him how ‘brave’ he is and how much he appreciates his service.

Maybe he should’ve taken the time out to change out of his dress uniform.

“Hey there. My friend an’ I, we really liked your show. You got a good set’a pipes on you. My name’s Bucky. This is Steve. What’s yours?” Bucky elbows in front with a charming grin.

“Captain America,” the brunet blurts out.

All three of them freeze.

“That’s a funny name,” Bucky replies, voice hard, breaking the silence. Steve can sense the change in him, his smile is shark-like, dangerous and his posture is one wrong move away from tackling the other fella onto the ground. He’s always been overly sensitive to any perceived threats to Steve.

Not that he’s not on red alert himself, shoulders squared, keenly missing his shield. The fact that some American singer in the town with an uptick in SSR and Army activity, right as Hydra messages are intercepted, knowing who Steve is… well, that spells all kinds of trouble.

“No - no, it’s not my name. I just - uh, you’re a Captain. And uh, American. Both of you. I wanted to say something like ‘Oh hey fellow Americans’ or ‘Thank you for your service, Captain’ but uh - just saw that poster and everything got jumbled,” The brunet says, pointing over their shoulder at one of the many posters where they replaced Uncle Sam with Captain America; not that they’re stupid enough to turn and check. “I mean, can you blame me?”

And, apparently, he’s still talking, “Who wouldn’t fall short of words when they see that strong patriotic jaw and pointer finger of determination,” he continues, wagging his own in the air as he walks backwards, “It’s real keen the way they created the whole character, I mean who wouldn’t want to sign their life away to the army after one of those reels? Great actor, guessing they pay him overmuch to keep selling all those bonds. Speaking of, gotta go get my clams for the night from the manager. Uh, nice meeting you…. Bucky, Steve. Have a good one!”

The singer turns tail and walks off, leaving behind two very confused soldiers. Well, one very confused Steve and what looks like a very amused Bucky a…..nd yep, there it is. Bucky starts guffawing like the chucklehead he is, grabbing Steve’s shoulder.

“...pointer finger of determination! Jeez, that guy sure is something!” He said between breaths, “I never noticed how patriotic your jaw really is! Damn!”

Steve sighs, this is never leaving him, he thinks as he pushes his traitorous lover off of him and walks in the direction the man took off. Even though he seems to be a harmless sort, Steve needs to make sure.

Instead, his path is blocked by the stocky piano player.

“No allowed.”

“I just need to go find the singer.”

“What you want with Eddie?”

“His name’s Eddie? I just wanted to say thank you for the performance, it was a gas. He left before we - I - could say that.”

“Ya, he a… how you call uh, strange but he a good man.”

“Right. So, can I go? Say thanks?”

“You say thanks here,” the man takes off his cap and holds it out with a grin, “I give Eddie.”

Steve’s about to protest but Bucky - having finally gotten over his laughing fit - nudges him and directed his gaze towards where the manager had come out of his backroom and is staring right at them.

“Let’s not make a scene, Stevie. Carter will have our balls if we ignore her stay low order,” Bucky whispers in his ear.

Steve winces at the reminder of the shots pinging off of the shield in Howard’s lab and parts with a crisp bill, depositing it in the cap.

“Thank you soldier. You want I play something?”

“No, no, we’ll just be leaving,” Bucky replies instead, taking Steve’s elbow and leading him out of the bar.

“Bucky we gotta-”

“I know, first thing we’ll talk to Carter. Make sure everything’s on the up and up.”

♮♪♫♪♯

Bucky watches from the shadows, nursing his Sidecar – screw him, he wanted to live life on the ritzy side – as the singer from that night, Eddie or whatever his name is, chats animatedly with the band.

“What’re you doing skulking around like a ghost?” Steve whispers in his ear almost causing Bucky to jump.

“Goddamnit, Steve. I almost spilled my drink! Since when are you this quiet?”

“I snuck into a Hydra camp to save your sorry ass, and have since commanded an elite group of guerilla soldiers on raids across the continent. Why are you surprised?”

“Jeez, no need to talk so big, wise guy,” Bucky scoffs teasingly. “Thought you were busy with ‘nother war room meeting. Got bored, decided to check out the local watering hole.”

“Mmhmm. And it had nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been askin’ round for the singer?”

“That was recon. What if he were a spy? Plus, it ain’t like I drew his picture in my notebook or somethin’,” Bucky teases, taking a sip of his drink, delighting in how Steve blushed.

“It was a… a sketch. For when we had to show Peggy. She said it was fine though. We ain’t got nothing to worry about so what’re you doing here?” Steve has that raised eyebrow look on his face that he must’ve learnt after he got shot up with the serum – he’s inclined to blame Carter – which is unfortunately quite effective.

“You saw her face when she saw your etching of the singer? She knows something.”

“They could be in cahoots. He could be a spy on our side or something, maybe she didn’t wanna blow his cover. You think of that?”

“Maybe. Tell you the truth, I was just about ready to flip my wig bein’ surrounded by all them grandstands and wanted some peace and quiet.”

Steve sighs, leaning his shoulder against Bucky’s in support. They’re both men of action. It doesn’t sit right with them to cool their heels like this, especially when surrounded by high ranking officials and SSR scientists. Give them a bunk amongst their men over sit down dinners with Majors any day.

“Yeah, well, you can take a powder if you want, I’m staying for the performance.”

“Recon, huh?”

“Shuddup, punk,” Bucky grumbles, “you wanna grab a table before they all get filled?”

“Thought you said I could leave?”

“Do you wanna?”

Steve shrugs, and says, “I don’t mind givin’ you company,” a bit too nonchalantly for someone who’s filled two pages of his sketchpad with drawings of a fella, and now that Bucky follows his eyeline, he can tell it was fixed on the brunet singer, who comes to take his place in front of the microphone.

Soon they’re crammed into a booth with a diagonal line of sight to the stage. Not the best seats in the house but it’s not like they can’t see anything. Plus, it gives them a good vantage point cause it would be hard for the singer to catch their eye directly and he doesn’t want to spook the guy.

Bucky has really been looking forward to seeing him perform. In the few days between then and now, he’d caught himself humming the original Italian-English composition under his breath more than a couple of times, had gotten flashes of that night, the deep, husky voice.  
Despite the excuse he’d given Steve – and himself – his main motivation for asking some of the younger privates and local recruits about the bar and the performances was mostly in the hopes of catching the singer perform again.  
Most of his fears had been allayed by Peggy Carter taking one look at Steve’s sketch and having a sour-lemon look of recognition on her face. “He’s a lamb,” she’d said, “nothing to worry about.”  
When Steve had pushed a little, he’d been cut off with a sharp, “It would behoove you not to question my competence, Captain.” If he weren’t so head over heels in love with the punk, he’d want Steve to step out with someone like Carter.

Once, after a somewhat taxing mission, he’d actually tried to make Steve promise that if something were to happen to Bucky, he would move on and find his solace with Peggy. Or someone like her who’d keep him happy. It hadn’t ended well, or it had but only after Steve had blasted off at him and dared him to make the same promise to him. Bucky hadn’t been able to get the words out, not even as a fib.

Suddenly, the band starts playing, breaking his reviere and Bucky shakes himself out of his thoughts, only to catch Steve’s concerned glance. He waves him off, even though he knows the punk would end up asking him about it later anyway when they’re lying in bed.

The jaunty tune is accompanied by the suited singer tapping his foot and two dames in brightly coloured dresses skipping onto the stage behind him much to the appreciation of the patrons – Bucky may have hooted with the rest of them. The singer begins singing and the dames begin cookin’ with helium behind him, tap dancing to the beat.

Bucky’s eyes however, are mostly fixed on the singer. What had drawn them in that night, the way this Eddie seemed to lose himself in the music, that quality of his seems fourfold today. He’s tapping, swinging, gesturing as he sings, grinning at the patrons, and winking at the dancers; he’s a sight to behold and he looks like he’s having so much fun. Bucky feels his foot start to tap in time with the music, and he can tell even Steve isn’t unaffected. Half of the bar is down on the dancefloor, lindy-hopping and jiving to the music.  
  
Steve and Bucky, though, remain stuck to their seats, except for the one point in time when the barkeep throws the glass of water at the singer as he croons a high note in what is obviously a well practised gimmick going by how the dames behind him already had their umbrellas open, well, that’s the only time Steve half got up and that’s cause he looked ready to get into fisticuffs with the barkeep.

Thankfully, Bucky tugs his sleeve and sits his impatient ass down, and for good reason as it gives them that much opportunity to admire how the white shirt now clings to the singer as he holds the flaps of his jacket open and begins swaying and swinging his hips, at one point turning his back to the audience and - well, if Bucky ever claimed his eyes hadn’t stayed stuck to that round rump he’s a thrice-damned liar.

The singer ends the song with a high split-jump with all the grace of one of them ballerinas he and Stevie had seen back in Vichy, which is a keen feat given his fancy threads.

Bucky might have fallen a little bit in love.

“Stevie…” He begins, eyes still on the singer who’s now taking a low bow, “look, you know ever since we both got our heads outta our asses and got together I ain't ever made eyes at anyone but you. So this ain't me doin’ this for a lark or whatever but I really –”

“Want him.”

“Guess you could say that. I –”

“I am saying that. I want him. Too. I mean.” Steve stumbles, even though his eyes are fixed like a hawk on the singer. “Should we - I mean, Peggy said he was fine right?”

“Yeah, we trust Carter with our lives. She won’t let us walk into a Mata Hari type situation.”

“Exactly!” Steve crows triumphantly, banging his fist onto the table. “Plus, if he really is a spy, we should make nice with him. Keep your enemies close and all that….”

Bucky glances over with a squint, “How close are we talking here?”

“Close enough,” Steve says with a slight smirk, but his Irish complexion belies a hint of a blush and Bucky feels a pang of fondness in his chest. “Closer’n you let me be last night.”

“Oh don’t give me that! When is it ever a good idea to get frisky out in the open?”

“I would’ve told ya if someone were coming, Buck.”

“Well, screw me for not wanting to get caught with my pants down.”

“Maybe you’re just losing your touch, Barnes. Well on your way to becoming a drip.”

Bucky hears the challenge in Steve’s voice and he knows that the little shit is trying to maneuver him. Sadly, it seems to be working just fine.

“I’ll show you who’s a drip. Couldn’t even talk to dames without tripping over his feet a year ago and now he’s actin’ like a drugstore cowboy,” Bucky proclaims, as he chugs the last dregs of his quencher. “You comin’ or what?”

Steve grins and slides out of the booth. “Maybe this time let me do the talking. Think you scared him away last time.”

“You didn’t even say a word to him.”

“Exactly!”

Bucky rolls his eyes outwardly but his heart is beating doubletime in his chest. He and Stevie have never done something like this before, gone fishing together that is, and he can feel his nervousness tinged with excitement. As they approach the bar where the singer sat, Bucky can’t help but wonder how similar their approach is to last time and he only hopes that the man didn’t hold it against them. Not that he was completely blameless. Bucky’s still not completely convinced that everything’s on the up and up with him but he trusts Carter enough to not completely fuck them over.

“...you ought’a give it a try, man! I can get the whole system hooked up in a jiffy. The water will come down like rain, it’ll be grand. And you’ll be getting a fire sprinkler system too! Don’t think I haven’t noticed the lack of fire safety!” The singer is saying to the owner, almost bent over the bar, gesticulating wildly, and damn, up close that ass is even more of a marvel and Bucky suddenly has a vivid image of pressing himself up behind him.

“No, Eddie. I am not letting you destroy my bar. Now, go, you have fans,” The man points at Bucky and Steve from behind the bar, before grabbing another bottle and moving to service the other patrons.

Eddie turns around and greets them with less shock that they expected. “Captain. Other one,” he greets cheekily. “I saw you two lurking around like a bunch of do-no-gooders. Was wondering if you’d come and say hi like last time.”

“Other one?! I’m a Sergeant,” Bucky grumbles as Steve elbows him to remind him to shut up. Well, at least if they mess this chance up too then the punk only has himself to blame.

“Well, we would’a stayed an’ talked if you hadn’t run off so quick on us.”

  
Eddie blinks and clears his throat, shuffling slightly and Bucky can’t help but feel a little smug on Steve’s behalf at the clear signs of embarrassment. “When a fella comes across two khaki boys looking to pound him into the ground, he learns to run real far, real fast,” he counters and Steve visibly winces.  
Bucky knows he’s thinking about how Eddie might’a felt a little threatened and rightly so by being cornered by them like that. S’not to say that they didn’t have good enough reason for it, but Steve tends to get real sensitive about any perceived bullying and well, to hear that he himself might’a made someone feel that certain way….

“Shucks, I’m so sorry, it was all just a misunderstanding, you see. How about you let us make it up to you and buy you a drink? What’s your poison?”

Eddie looks between them with raised eyebrows, his eyes lingering on how they’re dressed down this time and Bucky can’t help but puff out his chest slightly when his gaze drops. Amused brown eyes meet his and he winks causing a startle and the singer looking back at Steve immediately after.

“Come on, let us thank you for that gas of a performance,” Steve implores and Bucky sees the moment Eddie capitulates.

“Sure, why not. But I’m not drinking any of that cheap swill I’m sure Happy is serving you,” he challenges, turning back to motion for three drinks with a wave of his fingers. Bucky isn’t completely surprised to see them being served immediately. As they move towards the booth, the bartender catches Bucky’s eye and points two fingers at his eyes before jabbing it towards him and Stevie. Well then…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay to anyone who's following this but have a smaller chapter from Tony's POV :D 
> 
> again to reiterate, no historical accuracy is guaranteed or promised. au contraire, I'm playing fast and loose with both canon and history. 
> 
> this is just a self-indulgent fic

Tony glances between the two fellas flanking him and takes a nervous sip of his drink. He could never have imagined that his evening would end with him sitting between the Captain of the Howling Commandos and his Second-in-Command, sharing a drink at the bar he makes coin singing under a false name. If his father ever found out… but then again, that was the whole point of this charade, of his first few days in every new town he’s uprooted and thrown into, to find a place he can escape from the constant overhanging shadow of Howard Stark. 

Ever since he was a knee-high ankle biter, he’s had a something of an affinity to music. While his daddy dearest had attempted to corral him with harsh words and more work, his mama opted to channel his untempered, boisterous hyperactivity into the beauty and regime of music. Howard had allowed it because he didn’t care for much as long as Tony got the right grades in school and said the right things in front of the cameras. 

He knew like he knew his own name that Howard would flip his wig if he knew Tony had actually continued his boyhood infatuation with singing. 

Which led Tony to this, to sneaking away from the base and hiding under false names in seedy backalley clubs where no one looked at the crooner for longer than two minutes if he sang well or if shadows got a bit too close for proprietary in the corners. If he were doing this for the clams, his earning for a week wouldn’t be enough for even a loaf of bread, not in this economy, but since his father generously provides him with a monthly budget, and not to mention the earnings off of his patents and the money his mama wires him, Tony has a comfortable little nest egg to draw from. 

It doesn’t matter a lick because singing on stage like that and working on his side projects hidden in the recesses of his underground lab are the only two times he ever feels something resembling joy. And if he can spread some good cheer and joy during these damned times instead of the pain and suffering his creations cause, well, that’s just his way of balancing out the red in his ledger. Despite the fact that his father might call him a pansy and spit out that those Krauts are barely human scum, Tony really doesn’t want to be responsible for any blood on his hands, their national allegiances notwithstanding. 

He has to be careful with his extracurricular activities and if he were acting a mite smarter he would’ve taken a powder the moment he saw the duo sitting in the wings.

But Tony’s been running high from the performance, something he’d spent days perfecting, meeting with the girls on the sly, and his first time doing something original going down so well. So, when he gets an offer of a drink from two gorgeous specimen of men whom he knows of only from glimpses and oft-repeated tales of bravery and valour, or the buzz from the aides who deign to talk to him, well, he can’t help but say yes. 

Although, he’s been blindsided two too many times by the duo, first when they introduced themselves - he’d expected to see some of the usual kind that linger around here, not the leaders of the Howling Commandos themselves - and well, that hadn’t gone right at all. And then now, approaching him a second time and asking him for a drink… He’d have thought that any chance he would have had for any sort of acquaintanceship had gone down the drain at his big dumb mouth.

Apparently not.

He knows that Peggy Carter who acts more like an older sister than she has any right to had shut down the concerns the two had raised back at base and had only let Tony off with a warning but it makes him suspicious that the two soldiers would drop all their concerns like this and seek him out. 

 _Unless they were playing at a honeypot mission_ , a voice whispers in the back of him mind sounding way too much like someone he’d like to forget. 

No, Captain America and Sergeant Valour are not the sneaky spy kinds, they’re more the punch a Nazi chucklehead in the face and blow up a base kinds… something that certainly adds to their appeal. 

Still, whatever his misgivings, he is in the situation he’s in, boxed in by the two who frankly are taking up quite a bit of space on the booth causing their elbows to rub together and Tony can swear he feels the heat emanating from their bodies even through the layers of shirts and jackets between them. 

“So, what’re two upstanding fellas like you doing in a place like this?” He starts, then cringes internally at the shitty two-bit line. He can do so, so much better.

Bucky responds first with a chuckle, “Should be askin’ _you_ that. Me? I’m nothing more than a gutter rat from Brooklyn lookin’ to do right by my country. You, on the other hand, are way too spiffy for a place like this.” 

“That so, Sergeant… Bucky? 

“Sergeant Barnes, actually but you can call me Bucky.”

Tony swirls his drink and glances over at Steve. “And what do I call you?” 

“Just Steve is fine. So, how does an American end up singing in bars in the middle’a nowhere when you're clearly not a soldier…” 

“Not everyone needs to fight on the front to help with the war effort, Captain,” Tony bites out, every one of his issues being pinged by Steve's casual dismissal, not that the army man knows he's doing it. Tony has to remind himself that Captain America isn't Howard no matter how close the industrialist claims to be with him. 

“He didn't mean it like that, chill out. Steve's always been an eager beaver about fighting the war but he knows there's real hard work done by folks behind the curtain too.” Tony’s somewhat mollified by that, choosing to sip at his quencher which isn’t half bad for a place that only does three, max four, types of drinks. 

“He's right, I'm sorry. I run my mouth sometimes,” Steve says with a cringe and his ears are red with embarrassment. Oh dear lord, that’s precious. 

“It's true, I was always pulling his keister outta fights when we're growing up.”

“You got into plenty of fights growing up, you jerk. Don't go putting it all on me,” Steve retorts and while Tony is chuffed to get an inside view into the infamous dynamic, it kind of stings how easily they can just forget he even exists and get sucked into a world of their own. 

If he weren't sitting smack dab in the middle, he'd leave them to it. 

Tony’s had suspicions about the two for a while now. Mostly, he’d just thought that they were inseparable friends, a truth everyone else believes as well. But there are some things more than just sticking by each other’s side all the time, beyond the inside jokes and the back slapping camaraderie that ping at his radar. And then, when he’d caught glimpses today, it had only served to bolster his thought that these two were sweet on each other. 

He feels a little pleased that they’re letting him see them like this, that he’s one of the very few that might get the privilege, but then again, what’s the harm in letting some two-bit bar singer see them be true to each other? Not like they expect “Eddie” to have any ties to the military. 

He feels another pang of guilt for lying like this, even though he knows the other two have not entirely been truthful with him, but then again those are state secrets. It’s not like they’re lying to him about their whole damn identity. 

But on the other hand, sometimes Tony Stark feels like more of a mask than Eddie. The freedom of anonymity aside, sometimes singing and jumping around under a false name to entertain weary folks at night seems like shedding his fake skin so really, is he so much in the wrong to keep up the farce?

Not that he has the option to reveal himself. Wouldn’t do for his father to find out. God help him, he’s still paying for his misstep of having dared to challenge Stark Sr. in front of his army buddies.

Tony feels tired all of a sudden and he drains his glass, wanting to get the hell out of here. 

“Woah, you downed that one real quick,” Bucky cuts into his thoughts, and he glances over to see the brunet smirking at him. “We boring you that much?” 

“Wh- no - actually, yes, yes you are,” Tony challenges, seeing no point in censoring himself. “I’m not used to not being the centre of attraction and if you fellas wanted to chit-chat amongst yourselves then I could’a been collecting tips elsewhere.” 

“You sound like a real brat,” Steve says, and it hurts a little, he’s heard those words in multiple configurations in his father’s voice but the expression on his face is actually amused, teasing. There’s an undercurrent there that makes Tony want to lash out a bit more so that the Captain may then bring him to heel.

Oh shit, he really needs to get his thoughts under control. That won’t do at all.

“Shit, doll, don’t threaten to leave us just yet, give us another chance, won’tya?” Bucky adds, and oh. Okay then. 

Would you look at that. 

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are actually flirting with him. 

He feels a zing of pleasure, of excitement, because damn but these two are probably the snappiest fellas in the entire continent right now and they’re both here giving _Tony_ the time of the day. Or night, as it were. 

Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, especially if they’re together unless… Unless it is a game. Maybe a competition: see who gets the singer starry eyed first, maybe something to rev up their appetites before they go back home together. 

It pangs a little to think of that but it makes the most sense. 

Well, it ain’t like Tony doesn’t know how to have fun. Two… or rather three… can play the game. The boys just won’t know what hit them. 

“I just know what I like, Captain, and you two just aren’t doing it for me right now,” He shoots back, turning a little towards him but pressing back so his shoulder “accidentally” presses against Bucky’s bicep. “Give me a reason to not go away,” He looks over his shoulder and smirks. 

There’s a change in the atmosphere and both men sit up a bit straighter. 

“Thought our company was s’posed to be reason enough,” Bucky responds, shifting a bit closer and accidentally-on-purpose, pressing his thigh against Tony’s leaving it there. His arm drapes over the back of the booth, and he looks like some cadish hero from the flickers. 

“You might be used to people fallin’ at your feet because of your shiny medals but I ain’t that kind of able grable.” 

“Well how about we buy you another drink and you can tell us a bit more about yourself?” The Captain chimes in, looking  at Tony with such earnestness, even as he places an “innocent” hand on his knee. “I bet you got a lotta stories. You seem like the type.” 

Oh… oh, this is dangerous. He’s being prowled at and caged in from both sides and a thrill rushes down Tony’s spine at the way they’re reeling him in. To be at the centre of the Captain’s focused attention, or Bucky’s teasing exploration of his boundaries. A sick feeling of jealousy rises in his chest at the thought of the two men having the privilege to experience each other, know each other in all the biblical ways that Tony can only dream of. His entire inheritance for a night with them… but he knows that’s not possible. 

No harm in playing though, in humouring the two soldiers hankering for a flirt or two. Both the Sergeant and the Captain are equally smart and quick witted, almost competing between them to hold Tony’s attention and damn if it isn’t a heady feeling; to be the prize fought over, won over, with sweet nothings and tales of bravery. 

It can’t last too long though, and like Cinderella from his mother’s folk tales, the clock spells the end of Tony’s curfew.

“Sorry to ditch ya fellas like this but I gotta dash,” Tony says, “I got another job I gotta get to bright and early tomorrow.” 

More like Howard insisted on keeping a meeting at 0900 hours tomorrow about the update on the progress on his projects. As if he were just some faceless mook working for him. Although, if he were then maybe he would get to work in the upper labs with the rest of the SSR and not be slaving away in the lower levels. 

“Everything alright? You need a ride back to yours? I got a bike, I’d let you ride behind me,” Steve says, bumping his shoulder with a look of soft concern. 

“Didn’t you two ride here together?” 

“I can make my own way back, I’m resourceful like that,” Bucky says with a wink. 

Tony’s a bit surprised at that. Maybe Bucky conceded victory to the Captain? Letting him drive Tony home… 

“Or I can give you a ride, let this punk walk back to base,” Bucky offers instead. Well, there it is. 

“Very generous of you two,” Tony chuckles softly, “but I got this. I got a place right ‘round the corner. Nothing for you two to lose your head over.” 

“Shucks, can we walk you then?” 

“It’s late.” 

The two look at him with hopeful puppy-dog expressions and seriously, who let them lead a group of soldiers killers out into battle? They look like schoolboys.  

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, fellas. I appreciate the offer though. Maybe some other time,” He replies, squeezing Steve’s bicep – because how could he resist – before he slides out of the booth from Bucky’s side, the Sergeant doing the bare minimum to give him the space he needed causing him to brush all up against him, not that he was complaining. 

“What days are you working?”  
  
Tony turns back in surprise. He didn’t think they would be interested in a repeat performance. Either way, no skin off his back. 

“You can find me here on Thursdays, hotshot. Captain.” He executes a sloppy salute with a wink and then made his way out. He would have to take the shady backroad back to base and maybe pick up some chocolate to bribe Mark at the gates again but all of that, and the sleepless night he’s going to get, can hardly puncture his mood. He’s flying high on the rush of having spent an evening with two men he’s more than a little sure he’s clobbered for. And if that’s the only thing he’ll ever get, he’ll learn to live with it. 

Eventually. 

  
  


♮♪♫♪♯

**Author's Note:**

> The universe is an alternative universe, one where homophobia is not as rampant as it was in the real world. It's not a 100% accepted either but it's more like how it is in more liberal places these days. There might be some who have issues with it but for the most part it's a live and let live philosophy, especially what with the war and all. Ain't nobody got time to soapbox about unnatural relations. 
> 
> There's no real Alien Tech or Tesseract in this verse and Howard has obviously been aged up. Many other inconsistencies exist but this is a fun self-indulging fic and I apologise for nothing.


End file.
